


Scorching Hot

by Innwich



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Human, Fire Baton, Fire Dancing, Fire Performer Castiel, Fire Performer Dean, Fire Poi, Fire breathing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 23:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3268121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innwich/pseuds/Innwich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The circus was about to open in a new town. Since Sam was put out of commission, Dean thought that he would have to do a solo act for the fire show. However, Crowley had found him a partner, and Dean wasn’t thrilled about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scorching Hot

“What do you have in here? A friggin’ clown car?” Dean said, grunting under the weight of a wooden crate. The crate so damn big that Dean had to help Benny carry it to the Big Top. Dean was sweating like a pig, and his jeans were too thick for the weather. Benny’s clowns had gone to check on the dogs, and it’d been two hours since they’d gone. Dean would wring some necks when he saw them at the cookhouse tonight.

“I can’t tell you. It’s trade secrets,” Benny said. He’d taken off his cap and tucked it into his waistband, his hair was soaked with sweat.

“No way this is just clothes. Since when did your costumes get so heavy?” Dean said.

“Not everyone gets to wear a swim trunk on stage and call it a day, brother.”

“Shut your mouth,” Dean said. “My costume is awesome.”

“I’m sure it is,” Benny said. “You should lay off the burgers and pies if you want to keep wearing it though.”

“You calling me fat, Benny?” Dean said.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure the ladies don’t mind the love handles,” Benny said, and laughed at his own joke. He had a loud laugh, the kind that made kids love him as a clown and Dean want to punch him in the face.

“Keep laughing, dude,” Dean said. He shoved the crate at Benny, but Benny was broad as a bear and didn’t budge an inch. It only made Benny laugh harder.

“You have to try better than that, brother,” Benny said.

“You bet I will,” Dean said. He stuck his foot out and tried to trip up Benny. That was when Dean bumped right into someone standing in front of him. His apology died on his tongue when he saw who it was. “Shit.”

“Having fun, boys?” Crowley said. Dressed in one of his spotless black suits, he stuck out worse than a townie amidst the circus folk.

“What are you doing here?” Dean said.

“I want to talk to you,” Crowley said. “I have a friend with me, as you can see.”

It was only then that Dean spotted the stranger standing next to Crowley. The man was wearing a rumpled suit and a crooked tie. He probably hadn’t combed his hair in a while. Dean had no idea what Crowley was playing at, but Crowley didn’t like setting foot in the circus if he didn’t have to, and everyone knew it.

“Garth!” Dean yelled, catching sight of the gawky stagehand. “Give Benny a hand with this, will you? I have to talk to Crowley.”

Garth jogged over to them. “I got it.”

Dean waited until Garth had taken the crate from him and headed off with Benny. “What is this about, Crowley?”

“You are going to have a new partner for your show,” Crowley said. “This is Castiel. Get him ready for the opening night, will you?”

“What the hell?” Dean said.

“Careful,” Crowley said.

“We’re opening tomorrow,” Dean said through gritted teeth. “I don’t have time to break in a new guy.”

“I’m not new at this,” Castiel said. Holy cow, the guy sounded like he swallowed swords for a living, and not the retractable kind of swords either.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t work with strangers,” Dean said. “Sam will come back from the hospital. We’ll do the show.”

“But I won’t let him back onto the stage,” Crowley said.

“The hell you’re saying? This is my show,” Dean said hotly.

“I own your show and the rest of the circus,” Crowley said. “Do you think you’re that special, squirrel? Fire dancers are a-dime-a-dozen. I can pick up a few of them from the streets in Las Vegas, and give them your job. I wonder where that would put you and the moose?”

Dean would have wiped Crowley’s smug smirk off his face if he thought he could get away with it. But at the end of the day, Crowley was the one that paid the bills and kept the circus going. Circus folks were a dying breed already. Instead of kicking Crowley’s ass, Dean said to Cas, “Is that where you are from? Las Vegas?”

“No, I’m from Haven,” Cas said.

“Haven? _The_ Haven?” Dean said. “What are you doing here? Sounds like you had a good thing going there.”

“Cas ran into a spot of bother. You’re a spitfire, aren’t you, kitten?” Crowley said.

Cas glared at Crowley. If looks could kill, Crowley would be a pile of ash on the ground. “It’s none of your business.”

“I’m not going to get a say in this, am I?” Dean said. “I’m stuck with New Guy.”

“Glad we make it clear,” Crowley said. “Play nice, boys. Don’t burn the place down.”

Crowley trotted away, and Cas glowered after him.

Dean rubbed his face. This was the last thing he needed after cleaning up Sam’s fuck-up: A newbie to take care of. “Cas, I still have a stage to set up and props to take care of. I won’t have time to train you for the show.”

“Crowley gave me a video of your recent performances. I know the routine,” Cas said. “I’ve done this before.”

Dean never liked hearing those words from anyone. He’d heard it from kids that had done fire breathing and fire dancing as a hobby, kids that had thought it would be cool to swallow fire. Someday they would die young from the fire. They would get their face burnt off or get throat cancer because of the toxic fuel they put in their mouth. Dean had been born into this life and he knew the risks; he didn’t like seeing other people going down the same road. “Let’s meet up later tonight. We’ll see what you can do then.”

\- - -

The stars were out and a crescent moon hung high in the sky.  
Dean headed out to the grass field next to where the trailers were parked, carrying a bag of his props. The lights from the trailers and the tents made it easy to see for Dean to see where he was going. It was odd doing this without Sam, like that time Sam had ran off to college and left him and Dad behind. But even then, Dean had Dad with him. Now, it was just Dean and some guy that had been kicked out of a better circus.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Cas said. He hadn’t changed out of his accountant clothes. “There is a lot of grass.”

Dean put down his bag of props on the grass. “We’re not gonna use fire tonight.”

“Why not?” Cas frowned.

“The stage isn’t ready. Besides, I want to see how you do without fire,” Dean said. “I won’t let you onto the stage if I don’t think you’re up to it. I don’t care if Crowley throws a bitch fit over it.”

“I understand,” Cas said.

“Alright. We perform at the entrance. We draw in the crowd and that’s it. Nothing fancy.” Dean gestured at the bag. “Batons and poi. These are all we’re gonna use for the act. Have you memorized the routine?”

“Yes.” Cas shrugged off his trenchcoat and suit jacket and left them in a folded pie on the grass. He loosened his tie and pulled up his sleeves.

“Ready if you are,” Dean said.

Cas pulled out a baton from the bag. He tested the weight in his hand, and then tossed it into the air. The baton spun in a wide arc, before Cas caught it with one hand.

“Nice catch,” Dean said.

“Thank you,” Cas said.

He twirled the baton, and drew circles and figures of eight in front of and behind himself. The baton moved cleverly between Cas’s fingers, and Cas worked it like it was a natural extension of his body.

The night was quiet save for Cas’s dress shoes crunching on the grass, band the sounds of people talking and hollering in the distance. There was no music, but Cas was stepping in tune to an inaudible soundtrack. Dean could time the music in his head to Cas’s footwork.

“The music stops. You drink the fuel,” Dean said. “Fire.”

Cas held up his head. He mimed spitting fuel at a non-existent fire at the end of the baton. It was a good angle. He didn’t raise his head too high or low that the fuel would blow back into his face.

A guy could cut himself on that jawline.

Cas spewed some more non-existent fuel at the baton. Dean could see it: A huge fire pillar that lit up the night sky and sent the crowd reeling back from the heat. Then Cas wiped at his mouth, which would clean it of fuel. “Shall I try the poi next?”

“Go ahead, Cas,” Dean said.

Cas put down the baton and pulled out two poi from the bag. He wrapped the handles around his fingers. The unlit wick on a poi hung like a ball at the end of a chain.

Then Cas started swinging.

The chains were pulled taunt as the poi heads drew wide circles in front of Cas. The poi swung around him like two moons orbiting around a planet. They swooshed through the air, each swing was as urgent as the last.

“Let them go to your right, then your left,” Dean said, watching the poi swing. “I hope you’ve practiced for the next trick.”

“It’s not that difficult,” Cas said. He held the poi out from his body with outstretched arms, and did a front flip. He jumped high and he kept his tuck tight. The poi swung in two smooth circles on either side of Cas.

“Damn,” Dean said with wide eyes, as Cas landed on his feet without so much as a stagger. Cas made it look easy. It’d taken Dean months before he’d learnt to keep his arms out and avoid hitting himself with the fire poi.

Cas had a small smug smile when he brought his hands in front of him. The poi were trapped in between his arms, as he started doing the buzzsaw. The poi spun in a small circle in front of his chest. He timed it good, so the two poi was kept going at a constant speed. The wicks brushed against the front of his shirt, as each of them formed half of a spinning wheel.

Then Cas leaned backwards until he was nearly folded in half, like he was trying to do a bridge without the help of his hands. The hem of his shirt was slipping out of his pants and riding up his belly. He stretched his arms up above him, and the small circle was spinning inches from his face.

Dean was so busy staring that his mouth had gone dry.

The wheel kept spinning, until Cas finally lowered his arms. He stood up straight, and the poi dangled from his hands.

“What do you think?” Cas said. His shirt was untucked and his hair was a mess, but other than that, he showed no signs of having finished a workout in the middle of a dark grass field.

Dean might just be a little turned on. “I think I’m sold, Cas.”

\- - -

Pies for breakfast should be a thing.

Dean moaned around a mouthful of burger. The cheese was melted and the buns smelled like it came fresh out of the back of a bakery. Life couldn’t get any better than this, except maybe if he had a hot slice of pie to go with the rest of his breakfast.

The cookhouse was filled with performers. It was early, but a loud crowd was already up and ready for an early start to the day. A flash of tan fabric caught Dean’s eye. Cas was holding a plate and standing by the rows of tables with the uncertainty of a kid at his first day of high school.

Dean could relate to that.

Dean cleared his throat and yelled over the noise in the cookhouse, “Cas! You wanna sit over here?”

Cas nodded, and made his way through the crowd. He sat down across from Dean and placed his tray on the table. “Good morning, Dean.”

“‘Morning, Cas,” Dean said. “How was your first night here?”

“It was uncomfortable,” Cas said. “I slept in my car.”

“Crowley made you sleep in your car?” Dean said incredulously. “Damn. He’s a dick.”

Cas shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m used to sleeping in my car.”

“I love my Baby to death, but I wouldn’t want to spend a night in her. She always gives me a crick in my neck,” Dean said.

“Your Baby?” Cas said.

“My car. She’s a 1967 Chevrolet Impala,” Dean said. “The best damn car you’ll ever find.”

“I see,” Cas said mildly, which put a damper on the conversation. He started picking at the food on his plate. All he had was a slice of toast and a dark mug of coffee. It was a piece of dry toast, without jam or butter or any of the good stuff on it.

“You know you can get more food than that, right?” Dean said. “They won’t charge you for it.”

Cas blinked at Dean. “I know, but this is what I usually eat for breakfast.”

“Dude, Ellen’s scrambled eggs are to die for. You can’t have a breakfast without Ellen’s eggs,” Dean said.

Cas stared at the long queue forming in the tent.

Dean scraped his untouched scrambled eggs off his plate and onto Cas’s. “I’ll give you some of mine. You have to try it.”

“I can’t take your breakfast,” Cas protested.

“Ellen is an old friend. I’ll just get some more eggs later,” Dean said. “Come on, eat up.”

It didn’t take a lot of convincing. Cas picked up his fork, and took a large bite out of the scrambled eggs. Dean might be staring at little closely at Cas’s mouth, as Cas finally swallowed the mouthful of eggs.

“Is it good?” Dean said.

Cas licked at a speck of egg left on the corner of his mouth. “The egg is cooked well. It’s smooth and very creamy. I like the seasoning they have used.”

Dean leaned back in his chair with a grin. “You know what? You should try the bacons too. They’re better than the stuff people serve in diners.”

Cas didn’t protest much when Dean transferred his bacons to Cas’s plate. If Cas’s low hum of appreciation was anything to go by, Dean would say he’d just made someone’s day with the power of food sharing. He needed to get himself some bacons and eggs to see if they were really that much greater than he remembered.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Cas, what brings you here from Haven?” Dean said. “It can’t be the pay. Crowley is a cheap sonuvabitch.”

Cas dropped his gaze to the table. “I had a disagreement with my family. It blew up quickly and I was kicked out of the show.”

“What happened? Did you set someone on fire?” Dean said.

“No, my brothers wanted us to perform without a safety net and I disagreed,” Cas said. “I used to work as a trapeze artist at Haven.”

Dean choked on his spit. He’d heard of the triple and quad somersaults they did at the show in Haven. They were the stuff of legends. “Are you telling me you were their star attraction?”

Cas shrugged. “No, I’m only one of many performers. They won’t miss me. They told me that.”

“They sound like a bunch of dicks,” Dean said.

Cas let out a small huff of a laugh. “You can say that.”

“I don’t get it, Cas. You should be in the Big Top or something, not slumming it here with me,” Dean said. “What are you doing here?”

“Crowley didn’t want a solo trapeze artist. It’s difficult to break in a performer. A trapeze act is built on trust,” Cas said. “A trapeze artist is useless without his troupe.”

Dean almost winced in sympathy. Dean didn’t want to know how it must feel, having his career going down the drain because he dared to speak up against his douchey family. “Well, I don’t think you’re useless. You did a pretty mean front flip last night.”

Cas smiled. His eyes crinkled at the corners and lit up brighter than when Dean had given him his bacons and eggs. “Thank you, Dean.”

\- - -

The entrance to the circus was a gaudy set of lights and colors.

There was a slow trickle of people outside the entrance. Jo had set up her cart by the ticket wagon, and was selling popcorns and hotdogs and cotton candies to people that had bought tickets and were waiting to get the best seats in the Big Top. The circus wasn’t opened yet. Some people were freeloaders that came for the fire show, which took place next to the entrance. The point was to get people to come for the free show and get them to pay to see the other acts beyond the entrance.

The stage of the fire show was a raised platform placed right outside the entrance, next to the ticket wagon. There was a metal rack on the stage, used for holding lit batons during the show. The stage was roped off, keeping spectators from getting too close to it.

It was early, but the torches on the stage had already been lit, glowing a bright orange in the night.

Dean hurried to the backstage. He really hoped Bobby had had a head start on the preparation; it was never a good idea to rush through it. Crowley would have him skinned if anything went wrong in the first show of the opening night.

Dean stopped short in the dimly-lit backstage. “Sam?”

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said with a weak smile, standing next to the clutter of props and fire safety equipment.

“What are you doing here?” Dean said. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Sam was supposed to be a few hundred miles away, lying on a hospital bed and bitching at the doctors about the shitty food.

“I signed myself out of the hospital,” Sam said. “Doctors said I’m healed.”

Dean slapped Sam hard on the back. Sam whimpered in pain. Dean said, “No, you’re not. You should be resting at the hospital.”

“Okay, I sneaked out of the hospital,” Sam said. “But this is opening night, I have to come.”

“You should’ve told me you’re coming home,” Dean said.

“So you can jump out of my closet dressed up like a clown? No thanks,” Sam said.

Dean laughed. “That was classic.”

“I hate you.” Sam punched him in the shoulder.

There was a rustle at the entrance, and Cas walked into the backstage. He paused at the sight of Sam and Dean.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” Cas said.

Dean felt his smile fading fast. Shit. He’d forgotten about Cas. Of course Cas would be here; he was in the show. But now Dean had to tell Sam about Cas replacing him in the show, and that was the last thing he ever wanted to say to Sam now that Sam was back here.

“Hey,” Sam said, looking curiously between Dean and Cas.

“Cas, this is Sam, my little brother. Sam, Cas is, uh, he is standing in for you,” Dean said.

Sam stretched out a hand, beaming so widely that his dimples were showing. “Nice to meet you, Cas. I hope Dean has been treating you well.”

“You too,” Cas said, hesitating before shaking Sam’s hand. “Dean is a good teacher.”

“That was what I told Dean,” Sam said. “He wouldn’t believe me when I told him he was the best teacher anyone could ask for.”

“Sam,” Dean said.

“Yeah?” Sam said.

Dean waited for Sam to yell, to shout, or to throw stuff like he’d used to when he and Dad had gotten into one of their hissy fights. He waited for Sam to do something, anything, but Sam was being smiley and friendly to Cas, like nothing was wrong about this. “You can say it, Sam.”

“Say what?”

“Crowley being a dick and finding someone to stand in for you. Aren’t you mad about this?” Dean said.

“Dean, Crowley told me about it before I came down here,” Sam said. “I knew.”

“That didn’t make it right,” Dean said.

“I messed up big time in the last show, Dean,” Sam said. “I should have listened to you. I was cocky and I paid for it. I deserve to be benched for the season.”

Dean took a long hard look at Sam, but there no anger or resentment behind Sam’s eyes. All Dean saw was the resigned slope of his shoulders. “This is our show, Sammy. Do you really not mind?”

“I’ll still help out with the show,” Sam said. “Are we done talking about our feelings? Because we have a show to run, Dean.”

“Bitch,” Dean said.

“Jerk,” Sam said.

Cas stopped edging to the door like he was about to bolt.

“Let’s get this show started,” Dean said.

Sam went to soak the props in fuel and light the batons.

Dean pulled off his own shirt and jeans, leaving him in the striped shorts that he had for a costume. He shivered in the cold. Things would get heated real fast once the fire got going.

Cas had slipped out of his trenchcoat. He wasn’t wearing anything other than a pair of skintight tiger-printed shorts under the trenchcoat. Dean would crack a flasher joke if he wasn’t so busy staring at the lines of muscles on Cas’s arm as Cas rolled the coat into a bundle.

If this was the view from the trapeze, Dean might consider going up there for a change.

Sam coughed pointedly. “Dean.”

“What?” Dean said, tearing his gaze away from Cas. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Right,” Sam said. “Just saying, I’ll be your spotter for tonight. I’ll see it if anything funny happens. And I don’t just mean funny like your ass catching on fire, Dean.”

“Your face is funny,” Dean retorted. “You ready, Cas?”

“Yes, I am,” Cas said.

“The crowd is waiting out there,” Sam said, handing them each a baton and a bottle of fuel. “Go and blow their minds.”

\- - -

Music boomed out of the speakers mounted on each side of the stage.

People drew close to the stage when they heard the first few notes of the music broke the silence of the night.

Drums beat out a steady stream of notes, something that sounded vaguely like African tribal music. It was cliché as hell, but the beats were strong and rhythmic. It was easy to dance to.

Dean and Cas stood on each side of the stage, so people could see the act easily. Dean held his baton over a burning torch on his side of the stage. The baton lit up easily. The light from the fire flickered on the faces of the crowd. The people couldn’t feel the heat yet, but the night air was already less chilly on Dean’s skin.

A recording of Crowley’s voice thundered over the music. “Welcome to the Winchesters Fire Show! Tonight you’ll see a thrilling performance of fire dancing!”

Dean fell into his starting stance, standing with his feet apart, and waited as the music drummed out his cue.

One, two, and three.

Dean twirled the baton, drawing complicated circles of flames in front of his chest and behind his chest. The fire danced dangerously closed to his arms. Once he got a rhythm going, he stopped thinking about the moves and let his muscles memory took over. He kept his mind blank and the baton moving between his fingers. It was as easy as breathing.

Dean stretched up his arm and spun the baton above his head. He sent a winning grin to the crowd as he slashed down with his baton, and took a chug of fuel from his bottle. The paraffin never tasted any less nasty, no matter how many times he put in in his mouth.

The music was getting louder, beating out a quick tempo. Dean spit the fuel into the end of the baton and the fire, and the music roared with the fire. Dean fed more fuel spit more fuel into the flame, turning it into a five-foot fire pillar that reached for the crowd.

On his right, Cas was breathing his very fire pillar.

The crowd leaned back like one organic creature. The ones standing right by the stage took a few steps backwards as they felt the heat on their faces. Dean had his mouth right next to the end of the fire pillar, and he could never get over how _hot_ the fire was.

When the fire died down, Dean spat out what was left of the fuel to create another small fireball.

Cas raised a questioning eyebrow at him from the other side of the stage.

Dean winked. He was the boss; he could go off script a little.

The music turned mellow, the drum beats slowed down and turned expectant. Dean walked away from his spot to put his burning baton in the metal rack and grab his pair of poi.

Dean met Cas’s eyes as Cas approached him to get his set of poi. “You ready?”

“I’m ready,” Cas said, and lit the wicks of his poi. The wicks burnt easily. The long tip of the fire gave off the illusion the fire was licking up the chains and burning his hands.

Dean swung his poi in slow circles as he went back to his spot on the stage. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cas doing the same, syncing up the spins of their pairs of poi.

Then Dean started drawing more complicated circles. He did windmill and butterfly and hip reels. The poi was swinging faster than his eyes could follow, so he didn’t look at them. He kept his gaze on the crowd and watched their reactions. He stood in the middle of the tangled circles of fire, careful not to let the poi clash and the chains tangle.

A kid had once come up to him after a show. The kid had told him that it’d been like he’d got will-o-wisps following him and he’d got them tamed.

As the poi swung forwards in two large circle, Dean bent his knees and jumped. He tucked his legs up and flipped forwards, the fire poi spinning rapidly on either side of him.

“Oof.” Dean landed on his feet with a hard thump, a breath knocked out of him. Cas had started on his flip a little late, but he landed with a feline kind of grace.

A cheer rung out from the crowd. God. That move got them every time.

Cas was smiling wider than Dean had ever seen him did before. He must be feeling the adrenaline singing through his veins, leaving him high and breathless like he was suspended in mid-air and hadn’t returned to solid ground after doing the jump and flip.

Next, Dean spun the poi above his head. He shortened and lengthened the chains, alternating between tightening and widening the wheel of fire.

Dean looked over to Cas, and his breath was taken away. Cas had a fiery halo spinning above his wild head of hair, a halo that kept getting larger and smaller, larger and smaller.

He was beautiful.

The music swelled.

Dean nearly missed the cue to bring the poi down from above his head, until he saw Cas doing it. Dean held out the poi in front of himself and spun them, turning them into a fire buzzsaw that rolled slowly up his chest, long tendrils of flames licking at his skin.

He bent backwards, and the wheel of fire spun close to his exposed neck. Blood was rushing to his head when he leant back far enough to see Cas’s face. They were each forming half of an arc, spinning a fire wheel high above their contorted body. Dean would give a lot to see what they were seeing of Cas right now.

“The finishing move,” Cas said. Dean couldn’t really hear him over the music and the blood in his ears, but he could read Cas’s lips. Cas continued, “We can do it.”

“You’re crazy,” Dean shouted. The music was loud enough to rattle his teeth. “We’ve never tried it before.”

“You did it with Sam. I know how it’s done. We can do it, Dean,” Cas said. His eyes were bright in the light of the fire, and his gaze burnt hot on Dean’s face. “I trust you.”

Dean felt his heart did a funny little jump. Cas couldn’t mean he trusted Dean like he’d trusted his own family fifty feet up in the air back in Haven. Dean wasn’t a trapeze artist; he didn’t work that way. He didn’t let go of a trapeze and hoped someone would reach out and catch him before he hit the ground.

“Dean?” Cas said.

But Dean knew Sam was standing in the backstage with fire blankets and water and first-aid kits, and the crowd was getting pumped and jonesing for the final shot that would hit it home for them. It would be a waste not to finish the show with a big bang.

After all, it was opening night.

Maybe it was the heat, or the crowd, or Cas staring at him with those big blue eyes, but Dean was actually considering it. “Sure. Why the hell not?”

Dean unbent his body, and turned to face Cas. The poi hung from his hands, as Dean held out his arms and wrapped them around Cas, and Cas mirrored the gesture awkwardly. It was like a half-naked hug, only they couldn’t touch each other’s back with their hands because they had friggin’ fire balls dangling from their hands.

Before it got too weird, Dean started spinning the poi. The poi spun fast and urgent, turning into a fire buzzsaw that brushed close to Cas’s back. From the heat prickling at his back, Dean guessed he had a fire buzzsaw spinning right behind him too.

It should feel hotter than it did, when Dean had Cas’s arms wrapped around him and Cas breathing into his ear. Dean’s heart was thumping with the same rhythm of the drums, and Dean knew Cas was pressed too close to not have felt it. But right now, with them sandwiched between two fire wheels, Dean had to focus on not burning Cas’s back and trusted Cas to do the same.

He didn’t know how it looked from below the stage, but from the way applause was breaking out, he betted it looked pretty damn good.

The music reached its climax in a series of rapid drumming.

“Ladies and gentlemen, that’s the end of the Winchesters Fire Show! Come in for more of our shows at the Big Top!” Crowley’s voice rumbled. “You won’t be disappointed!”

Dean held his pose for another second, before he stopped the poi and unstuck himself from Cas.

“How did I do?” Cas said. He was breathing hard, either from the adrenaline or the heat or the rhythm of the music, or a combination of any of these things. There was cheering from the crowd, but he wasn’t asking for their approval. He only had eyes for Dean.

Dean grinned. Laughter was bubbling up his chest and threatening to stretch his smile even wider. “You did great. You did awesome, Cas.”


End file.
